117300
1
Without poetry my life’s an encephalitis-like condition –
an affliction with no alleviating prescription.
That internal pressure that builds when I can’t express what I feel and think like an eternal blockage of writer’s ink.
Work stoppage.
Thought flow coronary dis-ease.
Limbic brain freeze.
Mentally mute.
Can’t express what I need off my chest and speak my truth?
A fate worse than death, please believe.
Might as well commit myself; dwell inside a soft impact cell.
Flip my w-i-g and start believing that 6-i-m all over again.
You see, poetry has been my gate out of Arkam.
My sanity retained through my release – word game.
My purge taking form in those specifically chosen;
My mind reborn every time my nom de plume succeeds.
-HymnAgen
